A Kidnapping Story
by btlhkrec11919
Summary: Riley unexpectedly gets kidnapped by some accomplices of an old enemy...but it's not about treasure this time. No slash, Ben/Abi, rating for scenes to come!
1. Blind as a Bat

**Hello! So I used to be on this site a while ago under a different user name, but lost all data when my cpu crashed. So I haven't done this in a while, so do forgive typos/random POV shifts! I'd appreciate reviews to help me get back in the groove!**

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Riley stretched on the couch, groggy from his recent nap. He glanced over to the only light source in the room, a glowing TV; it displayed the DVD menu of _Eagle Eye,_ its menacing music, on a thirty second loop, must have been what had woke him up. Popcorn lay scattered across his chest, trailing down to the floor where a fallen bowl lay, having dropped in his slumber. Despite blinking painfully to combat his dry contacts, Riley focused on the mess and vaguely ordered himself to clean that up before Abi saw it.

He was in the Gates' mansion, a historic home purchased by Ben with a portion of his Templar Treasure finder's fee. Now, Abigail Chase lived with him, for they had married very quickly after surviving the hunt for Cibola. Riley still had his own apartment in town, but he visited the Gates' estate frequently, adoring the peace and quiet of Ben reading and Abi cleaning, as opposed to the constant racket surrounding his own loft. He was completely satisfied with being the loudest person to ever hang out at the Gates' mansion, and he definitely had his days of mischief horsing around the place or murmuring with Ben over some new lead on a treasure waiting to be found. However, Riley also enjoyed the quiet, as previously stated, and there were many times when he did his best to not disturb it himself. Today was one of those times.

Riley had made his way to the Gates' mansion late one Thursday afternoon to seek that kind of quiet. His next door neighbors, a middle-aged couple, were arguing as they frequently did. When Riley first noticed the arguing within his first month of the lease, he went over to kindly ask the couple to keep it down. Soon, he learned that this was a mistake, for the man who answered the door was a bald, beared, tattoo-covered badass who looked like he had founded Hell's Angels. Although Riley didn't promptly run away when the door opened to reveal this monstrous guy, the techie was only able to squeak out, "Ohh…mmm…might you guys have a cup of sugar?" He failed to mention that he lived just next door…didn't think the info was pertinent. "I'm baking a cake," he finished lamely as the skinhead slammed the door closed and resumed the argument.

Since then, Riley just found a way to deal with the noise, by either turning up his music and using headphones, by playing a really intense video game that absorbed all of his focus, or by simply escaping to the gorgeous and peaceful mansion his best friend happened to own.

"I'm starting to think you should just move in, Riley," Ben stated when he answered the door for his friend today. "It seems like you hate your hallmates…"

Riley gave him a cheesy smile. "Ben! Don't tell me you think that's my reason for visiting!" Riley stood awkwardly on the doorstep, giving his friend the please-let-me-in puppy eyes. "I come to see you and your nag…"

"Hey!" Abigail warned from the stairs, overhearing.

"…nnnNeptune-like goddess you call a wife!" Riley smoothed over, shifting his hopeful eyes to Abigail. "Hey, Abi…" he ventured cautiously.

"Riley."

Ben shook his head and smiled. "Neptune was male," he corrected, but gestured for Riley to come in anyway. "But valiant effort."

Riley pulled off his jacket, noticing that Abigail was stringing garland down the rails of the staircase. "You guys have it real warm and toasty in here!" He slung the coat over a nearby coat rack. "And amazing candles…" He leaned over a Yankee Candle and inhaled the fragrance deeply. "And here I thought Abi was actually baking!"

Riley cried out in surprise and pain when an ornament clocked him in the nose. Abi looked pleased with herself as she placed hooks in ornaments to hang along the garland. "Kidding…" he twirled a finger around his ear and mouthed _CRAZY _to Ben before scampering out of Abigail's throwing range.

Ben watched his friend make his way for the kitchen, catching scent of popcorn. Abi was still smiling as she hummed Christmas carols, for her arguments with Riley were always kind-hearted and teasing. Abigail, in fact, had confided in Ben that she thought of Riley like a little brother. The first time she did this it was for the sake of explaining why she worried about him so much. She had listed off the reasons on her fingers, one by one, as if she was making an argument for her case to Ben:

_He lives in a shabby apartment (without using his finder's fee to move), that was surrounded by sketchy neighbors! 2) He passes up a lot of our public events by claiming "it isn't his style" to wear a tux most nights of the week. It's sort of true, but I thought Riley loved attention! And 3) At times the way he dresses and acts reminds me of someone younger than his actual age, but at other times he's completely quiet and pensive! It's such a polarized difference! He either acts like young bubbly Riley, or an older, moody man, and there's never any in-between._

Ben agreed with most of his wife's evidence, but he was reluctant to say anything to Riley about it. Ben just assumed that it had something to do with Riley's interactions with the outside world, anyway. He preferred to be in the van running a task from behind a computer screen, like the night Ben had broken into the Archives to steal the Declaration of Independence, or the time he hid in Buckingham Palace's bathroom while Ben and Abigail studied the resolute desk. It wasn't Riley's nature to be the social guy, to act the part of someone else, or to fool guards and shoot guns at henchman. Riley was a cynic sometimes, but a lot of his sarcasm was his own awkward way of fitting into a situation. He wasn't able to keep his cool in a crisis; instead, he had the mind of a puppet master, watching quietly behind the scenes, pulling strings in his favor. As long as Riley kept that role, he would be fine. Although Ben didn't worry as much about the things Abigail noticed, he did in fact worry that Riley's insatiable craving to help Ben research lead after lead in search of a new adventure may put Riley in a different position. Each hunt had become life-threatening. Every treasure beckoned their trio, yet also enticed the bad guys to follow their every move as they too flocked toward the treasure. Ben didn't exactly know why he was dwelling on this concern…who knew if they would find a new hunt? Maybe his concern was some type of premonition.

"Wow, Ben, you look like you're trying to remember where you put your car keys." Riley was propped against the kitchen door frame, shoving mouthfuls of popcorn into his mouth. "Ugh. Kettle korn…" he unceremoniously spat the kernels back into his bowl and turned around in disgust to dump the food. The older man chuckled as that oddity brought him back to the present moment, and he followed Riley to the kitchen.

"First of all, the age jokes are getting old." Riley smirked at Ben's choice of words, but held in the comment as he took some swallows of Blue Moon. "Secondly, that was Abi's."

His eyes looked down at Ben from the swigging position. He brought the beer back down and gulped down the swallow. "This?" He tilted the beer toward Ben. "Or the kettle korn?"

"Both." Ben was already moving to the cabinet to pop his wife a new bag of kettle korn, seeing as Riley had already dumped every bit of the other serving. Riley was timidly peeking into the fridge to make sure another Blue Moon was in there for Abi. Looking satisfied, he shut the door and swaggered over to one of the bar stools, hopping on as if he were playing a game of Leap Frog.

"So," he took another swig. "What are we doing tonight?" he asked expectedly.

"I wasn't under the impression that we had plans…" Ben answered, unfolding the Orville Redenbacher into the microwave. "...but it look like you're either ready to party, or to pull a classic Riley."

Riley scowled. "I don't fall asleep every time I drink!" he protested. "You just catch me at all the wrong times." The techie shrugged and took another swig.

But this is exactly what had happened. He had continued polishing off a few beers while he and Ben watched _Eagle Eye_ until he found himself waking up to the mess of popcorn on the floor and an otherwise empty living room. Riley cursed, peeling off the painfully dry contacts while sitting up. These were on their last limb anyway, so he just tossed them in the bowl and pulled out his glasses. _What time is it? _He thought, noticing that he was still pretty buzzed. Despite wearing his glasses, he was having mildly blurred vision. He got down on his knees to slowly scoop up the fallen kernels, and grabbed a few empty bottles to take to the kitchen. He kept the light out, since his eyes were still readjusting, and slowly cleaned up the mess he had created. Riley's eyes finally landed on the stove, which read 8:00 pm.

_Whoa, _he thought. _That explains the buzz though. Popcorn alone isn't going to soak up that beer. _As if responding, his stomach growled audibly. _Where the hell are Ben and Abi? _He asked himself, running fingers through his hair. That's when he felt the Post-It note, pressed to his forehead. He scowled and brought it down to read.

_Riley,_

_ You pulled a classic._

_We've gone to grab a couple more feet of garland. Abi wants to finish the foyer tonight, and you refused to wake up. Plus, I know you hate Lowes._

_Be back around 8:30 or so?_

_Ben_

Ah, things made a bit more sense now. That's why all the lights were out. Riley felt inspired to sober up a bit in the next half hour so he could at least defend himself against the jokes about his inability to stay awake after a few beers. He stumbled back to turn off the TV, from which that music was still playing. That's when he heard it. As the TV went silent he heard a soft padding that he hadn't noticed before, but it stopped almost immediately. Riley remained still for a minute, having always been creeped out by big houses like this, but he settled on blaming the DVD for spinning to a stop. He probably should've taken that out, too, but he was too tipsy to care.

Riley decided on brewing coffee so caffeine might urge the alcohol to push through his blood stream quicker. He haphazardly poured some water into the brewer and tossed in a few spoonfuls of grinds before popping the on button. The clock on the coffee pot began blinking, as it did when it was brewing, and Riley found himself oddly fixated on it for the moment while he listened to water making its way through the grinds and into the pot.

_NO POT! SHIT! _Riley had forgotten to put the coffee pot in its crevice, having just poured a glassful of water into the brewer instead of using the pot to measure. _Shit shit shit shit _he riffled through the cabinets, looking for the pot to catch the streaming coffee, but it wasn't anywhere in sight. Instead, Riley clumsily thrust a mug directly under the stream, his spastic action splashing some of the hot brew onto his hands and arms. _Shit shit SHIT THAT'S HOT _,he sputtered as he clumsily tried to clean the counter before Abi came home to a kitchen floor full of puddles. He hastily moved soaked papertowels to the trashcan, before noticing the coffee pot in the dish drain across the kitchen. "Figures!" he muttered, glancing cautiously at the brewing mess before bounding across the kitchen toward the pot.

That's when he heard the second noise. It was actually a click this time, and it's source was a gun barrel emerging out of the dark. "Stop right there," a low voice commanded calmly, causing Riley to jump in surprise and drop the coffee pot. The glass shattered easily, but he was mostly concerned about the glasses that his flailing arms had knocked off his face. He hadn't slipped off his Converses before his nap, so that worked nicely for the glass-littered floor, but it didn't work so nice for the missing glasses he was now terrified of crushing.

Riley blinked in the darkness, searching for the outline of the gun's holder, but between his buzz and his lack of glasses, he was having trouble seeing. "Who are you?" he asked lamely, not having much else of a choice.

"That's not important." Riley suddenly realized that the gunman had taken a step forward, for he heard the unmistakable sound of his glasses crunching under a shoe. "Neither are your glasses," he cool voice commented.

"What the fuck?" Riley exclaimed, taking a step backwards himself. "If you want to rob the place I can't help without being able to read numbers or whatever it is you're trying to get from me." He glanced nervously at the clock on the stove to see if Ben and Abi would be home soon. The green analog numbers were too blurry to make out.

"Again, not important," the voice answered, stepping forward again. "Come with me quietly, Riley, or this will be very difficult for you."

"How do you know my name?" Riley asked warily, backing up again.

The shadowed outline before him chuckled lowly, coming closer again. "We've met before. On the hunt for the Templar Treasure."

The British accent was the only other clue he needed. "You're one of Ian's cronies," Riley accused. "I don't know your name. It all bleeds together after a while…Well by process of elimination, it's certainly not Shaw…"

The gun jutted out to smack him in the torso, but Riley had already planned to run at that moment, so luckily he dodged out of the way and raced through the opposite kitchen door. He stumbled, slamming right into the couch upon exit, but quickly recovered and wheeled around the side. Thankfully he knew the house pretty well, but he lack of vision and focus didn't help his orientation very well. Because of this he ran into what he believed to be the foyer, but really he was turned around and had found himself in a hallway. He ran directly into a wall, having expected that area to open outward into the front door, but instead was forced to keep running down the hall. _Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck…I'm as blind as a fucking bat!_ He panicked, feeling the walls until he found the stairwell that, like the stairwell in the foyer, led upstairs. He had wanted to get out of the house as fast as possible, but was forced to go upstairs at this otherwise dead end.

A bullet whizzed into the wall where he leg had just been, and Riley yelped while instinctively raised his arms to protect his upper body from anymore bullets that might fire. He couldn't tell how far behind him Ian's henchman was, and didn't care to pause to find out.

Riley tripped at the top of the stairs, having expected there to be one more than there actually was, and his elbow dug into the floor, catching a stinging strip of carpet burn. Riley pushed himself back up, determined to bolt for the stairs at the end of this hall that would lead him back to the front door. He heard a gun cock, and realized that his pursuer had actually realized this plan, and had circled around the bottom floor to cut him off at the same staircase. Riley reacted by quickly ducking into the nearest room, the sound of bullets again dancing around his feet. Clearly the gunman wasn't trying to kill him; he only shot at Riley's legs and feet, just trying to stop him. Either way, he didn't want a bullet wound at all, so despite running into various pieces of furniture to even cross what he now supposed was a storage room, Riley rushed as quickly as he could to where the window should be located.

Riley knew that there were trees in the back yard, which is where this room had to be facing. Maybe he'd get lucky and open a window to a tree branch right outside. _Come on, come on, come on, _He pressed his face close to the glass, trying to see the lock, fumbling to unlock the window, and thrusting the window up just as the door to this room was kicked in. Riley had already climbed onto the sill, groping blindly, desperately, wishing for a tree to be just close enough for him to grab. But he felt only cool December air, and heard the window pane above him shattering, as he finally lost his balance and fell onto the section of roof situated conveniently below. This broke the distance between the second floor and the ground in half, preventing Riley from receiving fatal damage to upon impact, but he rolled wildly with the inertia of his fall, and finally collapsed on the ground below. He silently thanked whatever god was looking out for him, and began to rise.

A muscular arm caught him around the neck, holding him so that he could barely breathe. There was more than one of these guys, Riley was able to realize as he clutched at the arm around his neck. "Here!" The attacker called out, signaling countless other buddies to come help him. "You were a quick little bunny," the strangler taunted, also an English accent. Riley couldn't distinguish shadows from each other, so he was forced to make general statements and pleas.

"Ok ok ok ok! Easy!" he begged, holding his arms up in surrender. He felt the sleeper hold only tighten.

"Shhh…." His captor whispered in his ear. "Sleepy time…" Riley began to feel limp as the oxygen supply was cut off from his brain, and his captors were already hauling him up before the darkness over took him.


	2. Seeing Double

Chapter Two

Ben and Abigail walked up to the door of their home, juggling a few shopping bags. A few of them were filled with the garland, but others contained heavier, spur of the moment items, such as egg nog and alcohol.

"I envy Riley's night already," Ben had told Abigail earlier. "I mean, when was the last time we just did nothing? Had one too many beers, feel asleep on the couch, not a worry about what time to set the alarm for…"

"Are you saying that you don't want to help me finish the foyer?" Abigail pushed their front door open, and smiled teasingly, stepping carefully inside while Ben helped prop the door open.

"Well, no…" Abigail knew what was coming. "…but not tonight?" Ben finished hopefully. "Seriously though," he said as they ambled toward the kitchen to unload their bags. "Why don't we have some eggnog, maybe some gin, save the foyer for tomorrow?" Ben ran into the living room couch, staggering in surprise, but not noticing that it was because the couch had been moving significantly from its usual spot. "Sorry, Riley," he added quickly, assuming that the young man had not left his position. He and Abigail continued planning their night, too absorbed in the idea of a 'night off' to notice the TV having been cut off, and there being no noise besides their own conversation.

Until Abigail's shoes crunched into the kitchen, causing her to lose her balance for a moment before dropping the bags she was holding. Ben reached out an arm for her to steady herself with, only being able to make out her silhouette because of the blinking clock on their coffee pot. "What was that?" Abigail demanded, reaching out her now free hand to grope the wall beside her. After some unsteady fumbling, she flipped on the kitchen light and illuminated the scene before them.

Both of them observed the broken glass beneath their feet, a plastic handle amongst the wreckage showing them that it used to be their coffee pot. "Oh…" Abigail started softly, eyes flickering from the shards to the coffee brewer to see an overflowing mug and a silent stream of coffee trickling off the counter and onto the kitchen rug below. "Ri…" she began to growl, kicking aside her shopping bags to make her way over to the liquid mess, but Ben stopped her.

"Wait.." he knelt to pick up a scrap of the glass that had been under Abigail's shoe. "These are Riley's glasses…" he observed, looking up at Abigail. "…which would explain the accident, if he were blinded by his lack of glasses, but he would've cleaned this up by now."

Abigail's angry expression had softened. Her husband was right. "He can be messy, but he isn't inconsiderate." She strode over to the couch where Riley had been sleeping earlier to find that he had cleaned up his beer bottles and popcorn. "Yeah, why would he clean this and leave the kitchen?" With the kitchen light on, they could also see the dramatic shift in furniture. The sofa was intruding in the walkway, and both of them noted the nearly perfect straight line between the coffee pot shards and the misplaced couch. Husband and wife locked eyes, and they silently agreed that Riley must've bolted from the pot and ran into the couch, shifting its position.

"But why?" Ben asked, and both took off in a jog around their home to gather more evidence. They each called for Riley, but got no response as they found bullets wedged in walls, collapsed banisters, casings, and finally the broken down door upstairs. Wide-eyed Abigail followed a squinting Ben as they entered the storage room to find the place ransacked as well. There was definitely a scuffle here.

"Look!" Abigail gasped, pointing to the shattered window. They both rushed over, looking down to find nothing below the window except some glass shards sparkling in the moonlight.

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNNTN TNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTNTN

Riley wasn't out as cold as he probably would've preferred, seeing as going through a tramatic experience unconscious may be preferable to the fright filled with every aware second he was awake. Clearly the man who grabbed him only wanted to weaken him, for he released Riley's neck before the kid had gone unconscious.

The techie had felt himself being slung over a shoulder, and he could only watch the foggy ground waver before his eyes, like looking through heat rising off hot asphalt. His captors were silent, though Riley had the sense to wonder why he was expecting them to be congratulating each other or something. These were Ian's men…but Ian had been incarcerated. Had he broken out? Riley didn't feel nearly as worried in the company of these guys as he did thinking about Ian escaping prison. This guys were obvious following orders, Ian's yes men, whereas Ian was the one who would actually kill Riley if he had the chance.

Riley was vaguely aware that the grass had turned black, and then white, before assuming that he was seeing asphalt and the cold metal of their white van. The man who had threatened him point blank in the house was making himself comfortable within Riley's line of view. He gave a gloating smile to the young man, who's eyelids confirmed that he in fact was not fully unconscious. "I told you this could've been easy, kid," he shrugged, and Riley was finally able to recognize that it was, albeit a blurry version of, Powell. "Though, you being drunk AND blind worked out extremely well for us, so thank you for that."

Riley, still a little tipsy, slurred, "Kidnapping isn't exactly _easy _for the victim in any circumstance," as he felt his hands being pulled behind his back. He heard the ripping of duct tape, and felt the stuff being wrapped several times, holding his wrists together behind his back. Shaw walked over him, and Riley could see that it was he that had just bound him, and probably did the whole choke-you-nah-just-kidding move. Despite the blurriness, he could still see the bald head. "Yeah, but it wouldn't have wreaked so much havoc on Gates' pretty little home," he laughed, moving into the cab of the vehicle to ride shot gun. That left Powell and Shippen in the back, while Shaw and someone Riley hadn't seen yet were up front. The van shuttered as it started, and he felt his balance shifting precariously as they moved, for he couldn't reach out to steady himself on anything. "He was like a bird with a broken wing, flailing down the hall and into practically ever wall and window!" Shaw laughed loudly, extremely amused at the short game of cat and mouse they had been able to enjoy.

"Nevermind that," Powell said cheerfully. "Looks like he's cooperating fine now." The men chuckled, finding mirth in the techie's weakened position. "Keep behaving yourself, and we won't have to harm that pretty little mug of yours." Though some still chuckled, Riley knew they weren't kidding.

But he wasn't the type to lie down and take it. "You think I'm pretty? Thanks, Powell. That means a lot," Riley grinned bitterly, received a kick in the shoulder for his remark. The techie continued to push his luck, unwilling to be humiliated by this lot who clearly never liked him. "What about you, Shaw?" he turned his head toward the front cab, although his eyes were still searching blindly for specific figures. "You could've asked me if you wanted a hug back there in the –"

He choked out the final syllable as Shippen's hand had shot out from behind. The henchman's fingers had wrapped tightly around Riley's throat, closing off his airway and words. Shippen was pulling his face toward his own. "Enough, alright?" and with that he shoved Riley back down to the floor, the back of the kid's head snapping back to hit its target first. Riley saw white as a flash of pain shot through his skull, and he hissed at the impact. "Know you're place."

Riley wanted to respond, but was at a loss for words as he concentrated on straightening out his vision. Surely they wanted ransom, he began to think. There was no recent treasure to hunt for, and the only other thing Riley was worth was the .5% he received in finder's fee. They couldn't hurt him if they expected to get a cent from Ben.

But everyone was ignoring him now. Aside from the mild glance every now and then, the others were busy doing important looking, and very frightening, things, like loading guns and programming small screens…though Riley didn't want to satisfy them with submission, he knew that he had no choice but to swallow his pride and comply. It was their boss, their ultimate mission, which was more important to save energy for. If they were going to treat him decently in return, then, for the moment, he would keep his mouth shut. Ben had once told him that it was important to pick his battles. _This must be what he meant, _Riley mused, shutting his eyes for a moment against the swaying of the van. He was close to shivering from the cold, for the captors hadn't been nice enough to grab his coat on their way out of the Gates' property.

About half an hour later, the van had begun taking longer roads than the original short streets of a town. Riley kept his eyes closed the whole time, hoping that they would believe him unconscious and leave him alone. He also hoped they might utter some information that might help him figure out his predicament, but there was no such luck. Once he felt the van slowing, he began to form a plan. If he could take them by surprise, this would be the time. He could picture Shaw and the unknown driver getting out through the doors to the cab, Shippen maybe sliding open the van's back door, and Powell perhaps tucking his gun away. There was a chance that for a few minutes, no one would be reaching for Riley, and if they thought he was unconscious they wouldn't wake him until they were ready to walk…maybe. But he certainly couldn't get up from his position without a struggle. Not only was he hindered by being bound, but his shoulders and arms had fallen asleep in their awkward position.

Riley tried to absorb every detail he could without opening his eyes, like the grooves in the van's floor, or the position of his assailants, or maybe how lazy they were being…anything that he thought might help. He heard doors slamming from the cab, and the van's side door sliding open, all as he supposed it would. Cold air rushed in the van, making him shiver involuntarily. But someone had grabbed him so much sooner than he had hoped, apparently with no concern as to whether Riley was awake or not. He was slung unceremoniously over the henchman's broad shoulder, so he concentrated on remaining dead weight and keeping his eyes closed to keep going with the whole unconscious thing.

Shaw was grinning at one of the others while the group walked. "This twig's gonna break," he chuckled, referencing Riley's small size.

"It's sort of a shame, really," Shippen mocked. "Gates could withstand more, but we need his brain. And nobody's interested in beating up a girl, so Chase wasn't an option."

"So we got the runt of the litter!" Powell cooed, taking the time to ruffle Riley's hair.

"And we can have our fun," Shaw commented. "Because he only needs his eyes and fingers…"

This is when Riley decided to strike – when they were all unfocused on their jobs as kidnappers and acting more like bully's surrounding a younger kid. Riley's eyes snapped open and, though he really didn't want Shaw for dinner, bit the henchman's ear as hard as he could, until he felt blood squirt into his mouth and across his face. He could taste the warm, metallic substance, and he had to push through the nausea clenching his stomach. Shaw yelled in agony and shock, jostling the load on his shoulders so that Riley fell directly and unceremoniously to the ground while the henchman's hands flew up to his partially severed ear. This impact itself shocked the techie, but he had to let the adrenaline take care of that while he awkwardly climbed to his feet and took off running in the other direction. This is when Riley finally saw the location they had brought him to. He could only make out a blurry, purplish black space stretched out in every direction. There was farmland for miles around, flat, cut low as nothing was growing this time of year, but Riley's eyes couldn't pick up that much detail in the moment.

_There's nowhere to hide….there's nowhere…_Riley realized, cursing his handicap, but he kept running in the same direction he began. He could hear yelling and angry curses behind him, but he could afford to look back. It was hard enough to keep his speed with his hands strapped awkwardly behind his back, in addition to barely being able to see. Even if he did escape, how would he get the duct tape off? He pushed the thought away – the thought that he was screwed no matter what.

"POOLE!" he heard Shaw scream, his voice low and deep like a growl, but amplified so that Riley could hear him, even so many yards away.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…._Riley cursed as he ran, the cold air rushing into his lungs, slicing down his throat like ice crystals. He felt a cramp in his side, beneath his ribs, that made it even harder to breathe, but he had to keep trying. _They were all being so nice…_he thought frantically. _Maybe it would've been fine….but now Shaw's going to kill me!_ Riley yelped at the thought, and kept scrambling toward nowhere in particular within the blur ahead of him, just faster and faster and…

A huge weight slammed into his from behind, wrangling him to the ground. Riley's chin crashed against the cold, hard dirt, and he silently thanked whoever that his teeth hadn't clamped down on his own tongue. He wriggled beneath the weight, shouting his protests as large hands turned him around so they could face each other, Riley's hands pressed uncomfortably under the weight of two bodies."

"Powell, his hands!" Riley heard Shippen warn, causing Powell to shift his weight to relieve the pressure. _Why do they need my hands?_ Riley wondering frantically, trying to take advantage of the shifted weight to catch the henchman off-guard. Powell already had the upper hand, quite literally, and he thrust his fist into Riley's nose with a blow that sent the techie's own blood splattering.

"And his eyes!" Shippen reminded, but Powell was nodding, annoyed.

"I know, I know," he waved off his partner, reaching his hands down once more to Riley's face. "It hurts worse to set it straight, but it'll stop the bruising from blocking your sight," Powell informed him, forcefully setting Riley's nose back to its proper location. The kid cried out in pain, and spat a clot of his own blood over to the side. "You understand," Powell feigned an apologetic tone and used his gun to force Riley unconscious.

…

Riley hadn't even had a chance to look at the building he had been taken to, and so he was taken by surprise when he woke up in a strange room. Then it all came back to him, and he knew there was no point in being surprised. Riley breathed in sharply through his nose out of habit and felt a pang radiate throughout his face. "Dear, Lord," he groaned, his hands feeling cold, and his arms tingling, with the pins and needles feeling. His hands, still bound together but this time with rope, we strung up to some hook-like contraption above his head. Riley sleepily tilted his head back to study the gadget. It was blurry, but it looked like a padlock kept the rope binding his hands fastened to the hook, so he definitely couldn't get down alone. He yanked at it for good measure, hearing chains rattle. _The hook must be dangling from a chain in the rafters or something… _He couldn't make out any detail on his arms, but he felt that they were scratched up a little from all of the scuffling he had been doing all night. He snorted to himself, unable to resist humming to himself, _Every day I'm scuffling…_

His head came back forward, stopping to rest against his bicep. It was a terribly uncomfortable position, and he was still only in a t-shirt and jeans, so he was shivering in apparently unheated room. His shoes and socks had been removed, so his feet pressed against the cold concrete. It was really dark as well, with the exception of a faint light from a small window at the top of the room. Only a slit of light shone through, and Riley now realized that he was in a basement. The ground practically covered the entire window, except for one sliver. He must've been out for a while, because the light from the window definitely wasn't moon light.

He was able to study his surroundings for about half an hour more, listening to the sounds of footsteps falling above his head, coaxing small avalanches of dust and dirt to rain from the ceiling around him. He tried to hold his breath when this happened after the mistake of breathing it all in once. He could feel the debris settling in his hair and on his shoulders, but do his lack of mobility he could do little to shake it free. The basement looked really ordinary from what he could make out, of course, with lawn tools and stacks of boxes. "Charming," he couldn't help but mutter. He wondered if this house was just abandoned, or whether someone in Ian's little gang actually lived here.

_Ian. _He had to be behind this. All of his cronies were still ganged up together, and I didn't see that happening without a fearsome leader. He was just beginning to try and work out the possibilities in his head when he heard a distant door open and close. He couldn't help but jerk his head in the direction of the sound, listening to what seemed to be light, slow footsteps coming down stairs that we out of sight. _It's behind me…I can't twist like that…_He tried moving his bounds, to manipulate their angle, but they were placed there on purpose.

And then he heard it – Ian's voice. That silky smooth English accent started to speak to him. "Hello, Riley. I've heard so much about you."

_What? _Riley still hadn't seen the perp, and was anxiously scanning the walls as far as he could see behind him for the figure. "Um, yeah. I guess some things have changed?" he found himself saying skeptically. "Did you read my book?"

The Brit chuckled. "No, Riley, I don't care much for conspiracy theory novels."

"But you _are_ a conspiracy theory, basically." Riley explained. "Like, your picture is in the dictionary next to the word: Ian Howe, conspiracy –"

"My name is not Ian, Riley." The voice was pacing, and finally made a coy appearance in front of Riley.

The techie could see the blonde hair and the fancy suit. "Oh, an alias? Should've figured." He rolled his eyes, wondering why Ian would change that identity now.

"No, it's no alias," The Brit corrected, now leaning further into the light.

Riley stared at the general direction of Ian's face. "Dude, I'm not Ben. You can be so cryptic and expect me to get it. Unless you speak html or something –"

Ian placed a finger on Riley's lips, shushing him. "Show respect when speaking with your superiors, Riley," he tisked. "You could start by calling me 'sir' when you address me."

Riley rolled his eyes. "Geez, talk about a big wig."

He was backhanded roughly across the face, irritating his already bruised nose as well. "Do I make myself clear?" Ian warned.

Riley turned back to look at him, a little impatient with the cat and mouse nature of this conversation. "I can hardly hear any English coming through that snooty acc—"

Ian punched him in the mouth, splitting Riley's bottom lip. The Brit pulled a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped the blood off of his knuckles. "I was told you had a big mouth," the Brit noted, looking up from his knuckles to Riley. "What an accurate assessment."

_Why does he keep acting like he got all of these opinions from a file, or a course? Ian knew that Riley had a big mouth; he didn't have to be told about it because he had experienced it first-hand! _

"Let's see how big that mouth is…" Ian grabbed Riley's face with one hand, squeezing his cheeks to force his mouth open, and the Brit stuffed in the handkerchief. Riley gave a muffled protest, and tried to spit the cloth out, but seemingly out of nowhere Ian had produced a strip of duct tape that he smoothed over Riley's lips, sealing the cloth in his mouth.

Riley gave an annoyed grunt. _Great, now I can barely see OR talk._ He was not happy to be deprived of two of his sense, so he settled on glaring at the Brit, who smiled in amusement. "I'm sorry – what was that?" He laid a hand to his hear and leaned closer to Riley. "I didn't quite get any English out of that foolish grunting…" Riley could only stare back miserably. "Silence is golden, but duct tape is silver. How true," the Brit mused over the cliché catchphrase, turning Riley's face in one hand, examining the young man. "Can you see alright, Riley? I see Powell's handy work, a break and then a reset – doubles the pain but limits the swelling and bruising." He patted Riley's cheek in a condescending manner. "We need you to be able to see."

The Brit looked expectantly at Riley, awaiting an answer. They hadn't told Ian about the fact that he was without both contacts and glasses? Maybe it had slipped their minds. Or maybe this was a trick question. The techie clearly wasn't going to answer, but he also had a question in his eyes. _Why do I need to be able to see?_

"Oh, Riley, there is more than one way to communicate your feelings," Ian lectured, punching Riley in the gut. Riley's head dipped down as he curled in as much as he could. "Yes! Superb. _Nodding_. Let's try again: Can you see alright, blue eyes?" Riley struggled against his bonds, pulling at the hook above him to make the chains clang, and made some muffled moaning noises. "Oh, I know," Ian taunted. "You are so very frustrated. But I asked you a question: Can you see alright?"

Riley inhaled a deep and painful sounding breath through his nose, pulling on the chains one more time. He hated being talked to this way; especially by Ian, his sworn enemy who had left him and his friends to die in the catacombs beneath Trinity Church. He was humiliated, but unless he wanted to be beaten again he didn't have much of a choice.

Slowly, hesitantly, he gave Ian a seething nod. He figured that the skills he was kidnapped for were to be put to an illegal task, so he would try to at least fool them all on the sight thing. He knew the cronies would tell him soon enough, though, so was it worth the lie? For some reason Riley felt that this was his only current way to stand up to Ian, so even if he paid later his pride would not let him give away the secret.

"Was that so hard?" Ian smiled, satisfied with the submission. He seemed to buy it…Riley just looked at him warily, searching blindly for evidence that he was being tricked. Ian continued, "I assume you are wondering why we need you to see, and why we need your hands to be functional?"

Riley's eyes followed the Brit as he paced. "Well, I can't really blame you for not recognizing me," he smirked as confusion spread through Riley's eyes. "You see, Riley." Ian stopped in front of him. "We've never met before now."

Riley gave a muffled sound that sounds something like a sardonic "sure."

"Well," Ian looked up at the techie's hands. "We got you strung up like this so when Shaw has his fun he can easily avoid your hands. I told him anything elbows down." Riley squirmed in discomfort. Shaw was going to be allowed to exact revenge. But shouldn't they be using violence as a threat? Not reported it as a guaranteed activity?

"And he knows about avoiding your eyes too, so don't worry about that. But I would worry about that mouth of yours," Ian pointed out, tisking again. "It'll probably be best to keep you gagged for that reason. Your smart ass comments would certainly provoke him, so we should take those out of the picture entirely by just leaving that on a bit longer."

Ian came back over to Riley, and grabbed onto some of the rope bound around Riley's wrist, leering closely to Riley's face. "You are quite a lot of trouble to care for, Mr. Poole, like a VIP guest." He chuckled. "You see, we have such a special job for you to accomplish…and, seeing as you're nothing without a computer, we must keep those typing fingers and code-reading eyes unscathed."

_Oh, that makes sense, _Riley thought. _He needs me to hack something, and I need to be able to type out the codes, because transcribing to a cronie would be a slow pain in the ass…and I'd have to be able to read the code in the first place. _But what was the job…

"Because, dear Riley, you're going to help me break my twin brother Ian out of prison."

Riley's eyes bulged, and he made some muffled noises in disbelief. The Brit shook his head and smiled. "Oh, forgive my lack of manners. I didn't properly introduce myself to you, yet." He bowed extravagantly in front of Riley and straightened, reporting, "I am Ethan Howe, Ian's twin brother."


End file.
